


An Unwanted Inheritance

by saiditallbefore



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, I put canon and fanon in a blender and this is what emerged, Pre-Canon, Pre-Femslash, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Tonks becomes Lord Black, lovingly riffing on tropes, other characters appear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-07 21:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20465825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saiditallbefore/pseuds/saiditallbefore
Summary: On Tonks’ seventeenth birthday, an eagle owl just barely misses landing in the middle of her porridge and delivers a letter.Or, Tonks becomes Lord Black.





	An Unwanted Inheritance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prinzenhasserin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinzenhasserin/gifts).

> So this sort of turned into a short love letter into every Harry Potter fic filled with Lord Black ridiculousness that I've ever read. And I've read _a lot_.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thank you to C for cheerleading!

On Tonks’ seventeenth birthday, an eagle owl just barely misses landing in the middle of her porridge and delivers a letter.

It’s not from her parents— Tonks had received their birthday letter the night before. Her friends are all still in school, and none of them would bother sending an owl. And she can’t think of anyone else who would write to her at Hogwarts.

She turns the letter over, wondering if this is some kind of prank. But no— that’s a Gringotts seal on the front.

Tonks opens the letter, and reads it.

Then she reads it again. And then a third time.

She’s about to read it for a fourth time when her friend, Melanie Matsen, plopped down next to her. Mel, who’d never been a morning person, yawned loudly and reached past Tonks for a slice of toast.

“What’ve you got there?” she asks.

Tonks silently hands her the letter.

Mel reads it, her eyebrows slowly rising higher and higher up her face. “Tonks…” she began.

“I _know_,” Tonks said, meeting Mel’s eyes. She bit her lip. “Do you think Professor Sprout would let me call my mum?”

* * *

It was an unusual request, but then, it’s an unusual situation. And Professor Sprout is very understanding. Before long, Tonks is standing in Sprout’s office with her mum, reading the letter from Gringotts yet again.

“This is impossible,” Andromeda says.

“I know!” Tonks says. “It’s ridiculous!”

Andromeda closes her eyes briefly, as if restraining herself from rolling her eyes or heaving a deep sigh. When she opens them again, she says, “It’s impossible because I was disowned.” For marrying a Muggleborn, she doesn’t say, but Tonks mentally fills in the blank. “Nymphadora, you shouldn’t be in line to inherit a broom, let alone the House.”

Tonks can hear the capital letters in her mother’s voice, the way she always can on the rare occasions that Andromeda speaks about the House of Black.

“Couldn’t your family have just left me some— I don’t know, some jewelry or something?”

Andromeda snorts, a rare unladylike sound from her. “Knowing them, it would have been cursed.”

* * *

Tonks would have been perfectly happy to let her mum sort this whole thing out— Andromeda is frighteningly competent and, unlike Tonks, actually knows something about how inheritance and succession works in the old pureblood houses.

Apparently, that’s going to be impossible.

“I don’t understand,” Mel says. They’re huddled together under a tree, steaming mugs of hot chocolate in hand, and keeping a close eye out for any eavesdroppers. Most of Hufflepuff knows something is going on with Tonks by now— her moody purple hair would have given it away, if nothing else— but no one has guessed what. 

Mel continues. “Can’t you just say no?” She’s a Muggleborn, so she’s just as lost in this whole mess as Tonks is.

“I tried!” Tonks throws her head back against the tree, well aware she’s being dramatic and not caring a bit. “But apparently the last Lord Black finally croaked—”

“Tonks!” Mel exclaims.

“—and all the others are dead or in Azkaban.” She stops, and thinks about the considerable family tree that she never paid attention to before. “Or underage. Or disowned, or married into another family.” 

“What?” Mel blinks her wide brown eyes, looking as bewildered as Tonks feels. “What does being married have to do with it?”

Tonks throws the hand that isn’t currently cradling a mug of hot chocolate up in the air. “I don’t know! It’s stupid pureblood stuff! But my mom’s sister—”

“—your aunt?”

Tonks makes a face. “Sure. She’s married into another pureblood family, and there’s like… a contract and everything. I don’t really understand but I had solicitors and goblins and ministry officials talking to me for hours about it so…” She shrugs.

Mel makes a face. “That’s so old-fashioned.”

“I guess her son could inherit if he were old enough? But he’s a little kid.”

“So it’s just you.”

“The good news is, the rest of the House of Black is all dead or in Azkaban or whatever. So it’s not like it’s going to be any work.” 

The two of them laugh, and clink their mugs of hot chocolate together.

* * *

There’s magic involved in becoming Lord Black, not just legal documents. And that magic has _requirements_.

“I hate purebloods,” Tonks groans to no one in particular, rubbing at her temples. 

“Nymphadora, don’t be dramatic.” Andromeda pats Tonks on the shoulder comfortingly.

Tonks gives her mother a dark look. Until all this, she’d had a plan. She was going to ace her NEWTs, get accepted into the Auror program, and become the best damn Auror the Ministry had ever seen.

All of that is still part of the plan— she’s already aced her NEWTs— but now she has to account for stupid Lord Black things. Like moving into an old house in the middle of London just because of the stupid inheritance magic. 

“You need to go in first, dear.” Andromeda smiles, but Tonks is not reassured. Her mum was gruesomely detailed about the protections the Black Family put on their house, and her dad wasn’t allowed to come at all.

Tonks taps her wand on the door of 12 Grimmauld Place. 

Some people say they can feel magic, but she’s never been able to— until now. Magic surrounds her, and it’s like being caught in the eye of a storm, or stared down by a wild animal. It’s mindless and unthinking and could destroy her— and all she can do is grit her teeth and refuse to let it.

And then it recedes, and she’s left standing on a doorstep in London with her mother.

The door swings open, and her mum lets out a breath. “Well. Shall we, then?”

They step inside and Tonks— finally allowed to use magic outside school— lights the way with a silent _lumos_. There’s dirt and dust everywhere, but that’s easy enough to fix, even for someone as bad at household cleaning spells as Tonks. 

Andromeda lights the gas lamps, and Tonks extinguishes her wand. 

This house was probably beautiful, once, in an overbearing and grandiose sort of way. But the wallpaper is peeling and the carpet is thin, and the portraits of her ancestors all look vaguely unpleasant. And whoever built the house had a truly unsettling fascination with snakes, too— the lamps and doorknobs and every other possible decoration are all in the shape of serpents. Even worse, there was an umbrella stand in the shape of a troll’s leg— Tonks had the sinking suspicion it was a _real_ troll’s leg— right next to a pair of moth-eaten curtains.

“It’s almost as bad as I remembered,” Andromeda says.

Tonks gives her mother an incredulous look.

“You never met Aunt Walburga,” Andromeda says darkly. “Believe me, her presence didn’t improve the decor.”

The curtains open of their own accord, and Tonks points at whatever might be lurking behind.

But it’s only a painting— a horrible, life-sized painting of an old woman, shrieking and moaning, but a painting all the same.

“YOU! Blood traitors! Stains of dishonor!”

In tandem, Tonks and her mother run forward and pull the curtains over the portrait. They don’t seem to want to move, but with effort they manage.

“And that,” Andromeda says, panting, “was my aunt.”

* * *

“Is this house going to kill me?” Mel asks.

“No,” Tonks says. Then she considers. “I don’t think it is, anyway. I’d save you.”

Mel gives her a dark look. “How very reassuring.” But when Tonks steps into Grimmauld Place, Mel follows her.

Motioning for Mel to keep quiet, Tonks walks down the hallway— and promptly knocks over that awful umbrella stand. The noise echoes through the house, and Walburga’s portrait begins shrieking.

“Help me shut her up!” Tonks yells over the noise.

When the portrait is finally quiet, and Tonks and Mel have finally made their way to the kitchen— which doesn’t seem _too _awful— they collapse into chairs on either side of the table.

“This is the worst house I’ve ever seen,” Mel says.

“So you’ll help me?” Tonks asks.

“Well, I can’t leave you here by yourself. You’re rubbish at cleaning.” Mel smiles, and her eyes crinkle up around the corners.

Tonks smiles back, and brightens her hair up to her favorite bubblegum pink, just for good measure. 

* * *

It turns out, the World’s Worst House comes with the World’s Worst House Elf.

Because of course it does.

Tonks has met house elves at Hogwarts. Any Hufflepuff worth their salt knows how to get into the kitchens, and Tonks spent plenty of time there. 

None of them called her a half-blood or a disgrace or a freak. And they definitely hadn’t called Mel a mudblood.

He doesn’t even make himself useful, to make up for the name-calling. He barely cleans and he keeps trying to squirrel things away.

As he disappears with what Tonks is pretty sure is an old photo album, Mel turns to her.

“Aren’t you worried about all that stuff?” At Tonks’ blank look, she goes on. “I mean, it’s _your_ family. Don’t you want it?”

“They’re _not_ my family,” Tonks says vehemently. “I never met any of them, and they would’ve hated me.” She cycles her hair through all the brightest colors she can think of, just to make a point. In this gloomy house, the bright colors make her feel better. “Besides, it’s just stuff.”

Stuff like an entire set of tarnished silver with the Black family crest on it, or heirloom jewelry that Tonks is afraid to touch because it might have some kind of awful curse on it, or the tapestry full of dead and imprisoned relatives, with Tonks’ mum blasted off. Some of it is even worse— dark artifacts and cursed objects that they’re both afraid to touch.

They spend all their free time, when Tonks isn’t in Auror training and Mel isn’t applying or interviewing for jobs, cleaning the house and ridding it of pests. They haven’t even ventured past the first floor yet. If this is what the living areas like, who knows what’s lurking in the bedrooms?

Mel pulls open a sideboard drawer, wand ready in case something is inside, and dumps the contents on the floor to sort through.

“D’you think all pureblood families are like this?” Mel asks.

“Nah,” Tonks says. “I’m sure some of them are alright. Mum always says the Blacks took everything too far.”

Mel laughs. “So that’s where you get that from.”

Tonks shoves her playfully. 

An owl swoops in, bearing an official-looking letter— and really, Tonks could grow to hate owls, with the sort of news they keep bringing her.

“What is it this time?” Mel asks.

Tonks makes a face, using her Metamorphmagus powers to exaggerate it. “Apparently, Lord Black is expected at the Wizengamot meeting tomorrow.”

* * *

Tonks owns exactly one dress robe. She’s never worn it— never expected to wear it— but her mother remains traditional about _some_ things. 

“You never know when you might need dress robes, Nyphadora,” she’d said.

Tonks hates to prove her mother right, but it is handy to have something to wear to the Wizengamot. 

She changes her hair to a sedate brown, close to her natural color. Then she frowns at her reflection— she looks entirely too much like her mother. She concentrates, and changes the shape of her nose, then changes her eye color to a bright green that will match the robes.

There. She looks nothing at all like herself, but she probably won’t be laughed out of the Wizengamot.

Downstairs, Mel is sipping tea and writing a letter. When Tonks walks in— stepping carefully to avoid tripping on her robes— Mel looks up, and her eyes widen.

“Wow,” she says. “You look—”

“Stupid?” Tonks laughs.

“Great,” Mel finishes. “I was going to say great.”

Tonks is suddenly thankful that, as a Metamorphmagus, she can control her blushes. “Right. Um. I have to— I’ll tell you all about it?”

Mel waves goodbye, and Tonks floos to the Ministry.

Like every other tradition the old pureblood families insist on clinging to, the Wizengamot is largely useless. They have _some_ power, under some circumstances, such as major criminal trials. But even those circumstances are rare— the last trials the Wizengamot were convened for were the Death Eater trials.

As far as Tonks can tell, the main purpose of the Wizengamot is to let purebloods yell at each other about politics and feel important. But just like she has to live in Grimmauld Place, because it’s the ancestral seat of the Black Family, she has to take her seat on the Wizengamot.

She strides toward the Wizengamot chambers. It’s the opposite of the way she would normally go, if she were going to her Auror training, but she squares her shoulders and walks like she knows where she’s going. 

Then she trips on thin air and crashes onto the floor.

Tonks waves away the helpful bystanders. Well, no one ever accused her of being graceful.

The Wizengamot chambers are huge and ornate. The chandeliers and seats are gold and covered in ornate scrollwork, and there’s flourishes of dark purple all around. 

It’s horrifically tacky, and Tonks loves it. Maybe she’ll copy the style for the front hall of Grimmauld Place.

Every single one of the seats has a crest on the back of it. Tonks recognizes less than half of them, but she’s only looking for one.

The Black family crest is burned into Tonks’ brain. She sees it on moth-eaten towels, on silver, on that tapestry; she’s pretty sure her ancestors embroidered that stupid crest into their underwear. She sees that crest in her _sleep_. So it’s embarrassing how long she stands in the front of the room, looking for the right seat.

Only one of the seats adjacent to the Black seat is occupied, by a blond man with a pale, pointed face. He gripped tightly on a walking stick, and his face, when he saw Tonks walking toward him, tightened into an expression she couldn’t quite read.

Tonks sits in the Black Wizengamot seat, trying not to look as uncomfortable as she feels. She is by far the youngest person in the room.

“Ah, Lord Black?” 

It’s the pale man next to her. Tonks attempts to give him a cool look, the one her mother uses when people bring up unpleasant subjects. “It’s Tonks, actually.”

“Of course.” The man smiles. It does not make him appear more friendly. “Lucius Malfoy. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, you know.”

Tonks wonders if Lucius Malfoy is above anything as plebian as shaking hands or if he just doesn’t want to touch a half-blood. Then she wonders where she’s heard the name Malfoy before.

He must see the confusion on her face, because he adds, “My wife is your mother’s younger sister.”

“My mother always said she didn’t have any sisters,” Tonks says flatly. 

Not always. Andromeda kept a photo album with childhood pictures locked away in her bedroom, and once a year she would write a letter to Narcissa that would be returned unopened, and those were the only things that Tonks had ever known to make her mother cry. But this man didn’t need to know that.

His lips thin. “Miss Tonks—”

But whatever he is about to say is interrupted as the Wizengamot session is called to order.

* * *

“It can’t be that bad,” Mel says, but even she sounds doubtful. She’s got a streak of dirt across her cheek, and Tonks wants to reach out and wipe it off.

“It was a bunch of old purebloods trying to throw their weight around.” 

“But the Ministry listens to them, don’t they?” 

Tonks shrugs. “Kind of. Depends on the minister, I think.” She stands up. “I’m sick of thinking about the Wizengamot. Want to go upstairs?”

They’ve gone up past the ground floor to the first floor before, where there’s a drawing room, a bathroom, and what seems to have been a spare bedroom— now repurposed into Mel and Tonks’s bedroom. But they haven’t been past that, to the rooms where the family lived.

Tonks knows even less about this branch of the Black family than she does about her mother’s sisters. They’re all dead, except for the one that’s in Azkaban. One of them made a mad painting of herself.

As much as she hates the Black family, she’s curious.

Mel is game, so the two of them venture up the dark stairway, their footsteps kicking up clouds of dust.

The second floor is all bedrooms. They’ll need to be cleaned out, but they’re not what Tonks is looking for, so she keeps moving.

The third floor proves promising. A sitting room and an office— they both look like they might have been bedrooms once, too— and one other bedroom.

Tonks opens the door, but stops short before walking inside. 

It’s larger than the other bedrooms Tonks has seen, and it must have belonged to the owners of the house. 

But unlike every other room in the house, this bedroom is spotless. 

“Kreacher has been busy,” Mel says.

Tonks has barely seen the house elf— just glimpses of him, as he smuggles away heirlooms she didn’t even want and mutters at her menacingly. It’s sad and eerie to think of him up here, cleaning this single room faithfully.

She hasn’t spared much of a thought to the previous owner of this house, her great-aunt Walburga. The woman in the painting certainly doesn’t inspire much sympathy, and neither did the few words her mum had.

But her house elf, at least, seems to have liked her.

Tonks quietly closes the door and steps back, sharing a look with Mel.

“Do you think the other bedrooms…” Mel begins in a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Tonks whispers back. There’s no reason to be quiet, except that it seems like the thing to do. 

Together, they begin walking up the stairs, to the fourth floor. There are only two doors here. One is marked with a sign— in far better handwriting than Tonks’ own— that reads “_Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black_”. On the other, there is a nameplate that simply reads, “Sirius”.

Tonks looks at the other door, driven by the same gruesome, restless curiosity that’s brought her up here in search of— of what? Of family history?

“Sirius Black,” she says.

At Mel’s look, she explains. “He was You-Know-Who’s right hand. He’s in Azkaban now.”

“What do you think is in there?” Mel asks.

Tonks can’t even begin to imagine. So she doesn’t try. Instead, she reaches forward and turns the knob.

The bedroom looks nothing like the rest of the house. Sure, it’s exactly as dusty and moth-eaten, and the wooden headboards and velvet bed curtains are similar to those in the other bedrooms, but there isn’t a trace of green in this room. Everything is red or gold— Gryffindor colors. A Gryffindor banner hangs over the bed. Muggle posters adorn the walls— women in bikinis and Muggle motorbikes— punctuated by wizarding photographs of a group of laughing boys at Hogwarts.

If he weren’t sentenced to life in Azkaban for unspeakable crimes, Tonks might start to like the man. 

As it is, she can only wonder what happened to him.

Tonks backs out of the room. She looks at Regulus Arcturus Black’s closed door, then walks back downstairs.

She can’t face any more of her family’s ghosts today.

* * *

Tonks’ appearance at the Wizengamot seems to have sparked something. The next day, there’s a mention in the _Daily Prophet_. 

There’s also a flurry of letters, addressed to “Lord Black,” that arrive around breakfast. Tonks looks at them dubiously.

“I didn’t _think_ I mortally offended anyone,” she says.

Mel pours herself more tea. “Only one way to find out.”

A few letters are from other members of the Wizengamot, asking for Lord Black’s opinion on this or that. An invitation to tea with Narcissa Black Malfoy. A handful of polite but pointed introductions from distant relatives on the continent.

“I didn’t even know I _had_ any more relatives,” Tonks groans.

Mel makes a sympathetic face. “Maybe you should call your mum?”

Since Andromeda actually grew up with all of this, that seems like a good idea. A short floo-call later, and Andromeda is in the Grimmauld Place kitchen, looking over Tonks’ mail.

“You’ll have to reply to these,” she says, stacking the introductions from Black relatives into a neat pile. “Something short, but you’ll want to acknowledge them.” She pauses, tapping her fingernails on the letters thoughtfully. “You may want to allude to your political positions, before any of them get any ideas.”

“I don’t have political positions,” Tonks protests.

“Of course you do,” Mel says.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Andromeda says at the same time. “A half-blood as Lord Black? Your _existence_ is political.”

Tonks slumps down in her chair, feeling more and more trapped by her new position.

“You can put off the Wizengamot for a while,” Andromeda continues. “But you’ll probably want to meet with them eventually. It would be good to have allies.”

“The Wizengamot is pointless,” Tonks grumbles, but her mum ignores her.

Andromeda lingers over the last letter. Finally she says, “I think you should meet with her.”

“No offense, Mrs. Tonks, but that sounds like a terrible idea,” Mel says.

“You don’t have to listen to her,” Andromeda says. “In fact, I recommend that you don’t. But you should find out what she wants.”

Tonks presses her lips together. She has no desire to meet with an aunt who has never previously acknowledged her existence. “Her husband seemed like a real charmer.”

Andromeda’s lips thin. “Yes. Well. I can’t say I ever understood Narcissa’s taste in men.”

“What if we invite her here instead?” Mel asks.

“Here?” Tonks and her mum speak simultaneously, identical tones of disbelief echoing around the kitchen.

Mel bites her lip, like she always does when she’s nervous. “Well, this house is important to the Blacks, right? I mean, it’s horrid, but wouldn’t it be better if Tonks— as Lord Black— met with Mrs. Malfoy on her own territory?”

Andromeda looks approvingly at Mel. “That’s an excellent idea. We’ll have to get this place presentable, though.”

* * *

For once, Tonks is at home— if Grimmauld Place can be called home— and Mel isn’t. She tries to focus on cleaning, and getting the drawing room presentable for tea with Narcissa next week. But it’s hard— without Mel here to talk to, all she can think about are the noises coming from other parts of the house. She tries not to let her imagination run wild, but in this house, that’s hard. Is it the noise of an old house, creaking and settling? Is it Kreacher, muttering to himself and lurking in the corners? Is it paintings of her ancestors, murmuring to each other? 

She’s considering whether she should investigate or just turn up the wireless to drown out the noise— if there is one, and it’s not in her head— when she hears the _whoosh _of the floo.

Tonks jumps, and turns around, her wand out. But it’s just Mel, looking startled by Tonks’s reaction.

Tonks puts her wand down. “Sorry,” she says. “Being in this house all alone— I think I spooked myself.”

Mel smiles a little, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, it does that.”

Tonks frowns. She’s known Mel since they were first years, and she rarely lets anything get her down. “What’s wrong?”

Mel shakes her head, but Tonks leads her over to the couch— still a bit faded, but nowhere near as musty as it used to be. 

“Come on,” she says, slinging an arm over Mel’s shoulder. They’ve done this more times than she can count— late nights in the dorms, and mornings in the Great Hall, and afternoons outside, and everywhere and every time in between. 

“I got offered a job,” Mel finally says. “At the Department of International Magical Cooperation..”

“That’s great news!” Tonks exclaims. She takes another look at Mel’s face. “Isn’t it?”

Mel makes a face. “They were very interested in how well I knew Lord Black.”

“Oh. _Oh_.” Tonks reaches over and hugs Mel tightly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Mel says into Tonks’s shoulder. 

“No, they’re just too stupid to appreciate you.” Tonks holds on tight to Mel, trying to imbue as much comfort as she can into a hug given at a somewhat awkward angle. When Mel finally pulls away, Tonks says, “Come on!”

“Where?” Mel asks, but Tonks has already dragged her into the kitchen.

Tonks has never been so glad for gloomy English summers before— and for a cold and gloomy London house. It would have been hard to make their traditional hot chocolate— like they’d always had when homesick, or worried over exams, or dealing with any of their other problems— if it ever actually got hot.

With only a few mishaps— okay, so Tonks really shouldn’t be allowed near a hot stove— the hot chocolate is made.

They sit on opposite sides of the table. “Cheers,” Mel says, raising her mug to Tonks.

“Cheers.” Tonks performs a handy little charm to cool both drinks off, just enough so they won’t be scalding. She takes a long drink, then asks, “Are you going to take the job?”

Mel looks uncomfortable. “I don’t know. If they’re only offering it because they want to be close to Lord Black… But there’s so many people who don’t want to take a chance on a muggleborn, and a Hufflepuff at that.”

Abruptly, Tonks takes Mel’s hand in hers. “You should take it. I don’t care why they offered it to you— you’re smart and hard-working and you deserve it as much as anyone else.”

Mel tilts her head, letting her dark curls fall into her face. “I’ll think about it.”

* * *

It would take a miracle to make Grimmauld Place look like anything other than what it is, but with a little help from Andromeda, Tonks and Mel manage to make the first two floors look better. Everything has been cleaned, and all of the trinkets scattered around the house look like heirlooms, rather than junk. 

Narcissa arrives through the front door— the floo is closed off to her. She’s tall and slender, with long blonde hair and an upturned nose. Unlike Tonks, who only bothered to find clean robes for the occasion, she’s wearing robes that drape so well they _have _to be custom-tailored. She looks nothing at all like Andromeda, except for her eyes. She has the same gray eyes that Andromeda does, and that Tonks does when she doesn’t bother to change them.

“Lord Black.” Narcissa smiles, and it’s enough to make her look charming, rather than haughty.

Tonks forces a smile. “I go by Tonks.”

Narcissa doesn’t even blink. “Of course.” 

Somehow, standing here in the front hall of what is ostensibly her own house, greeting her estranged aunt, Tonks feels more out of place than she’s ever felt in her life.

“Tea is in the drawing room,” Tonks finally says. She turns on her heel and walks down the hall, letting Narcissa follow.

Mel is in the drawing room when they arrive, hovering anxiously over the tea set. Tonks makes introductions and pours tea, and they all settle into an uncomfortable silence.

Narcissa is the one to finally break the silence. “It is so good to finally meet you,” she says. “You have no idea how happy it made me when you inherited the title.”

Tonks raised her eyebrows. “Really? Because I heard that you and your husband were looking for a reason why it should pass to your son.”

“Well.” Narcissa takes a sip of tea. “You have to look out for your family. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course I understand. _Auntie_.” 

Narcissa winces.

Mel interrupts before things get more heated. “What were you hoping to speak with Tonks about, Mrs. Malfoy?”

“I know you’re terribly new to all of this, and I wished to know if there was anything I could help you understand.” Narcissa is smiling again, like she really _means_ every word she’s saying. Maybe she does. 

“I’m not taking advice from someone who can’t write back to her own sister.” The thought enrages Tonks, the way it always does. The way that the tapestry with names burned off and the portrait that calls her _half-blood filth_ and worse names enrages her. 

Why is everyone she’s related to so awful?

Narcissa’s eyes flash. “You’re being childish. You think that you can have it both ways— have your house and your title and pretend that none of it matters a bit.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Tonks feels compelled to exclaim. “You’re all just playing dress-up games so you can make yourselves feel important!”

“And I suppose the Minister never listens to influential members of the Wizengamot? That they don’t influence which laws get written and passed?”

Mel looks surprised at this line of thinking, and Tonks is sure she does, too. 

Narcissa laughs derisively and shakes her head. “Of course, you never thought of that. You know everything, I’m sure. But if you don’t learn how to play along, you’re going to get chewed up and spit out.” She stands and nods crisply at Tonks. “I’ll see myself out.”

The front door closes heavily— not quite loud enough to accuse Narcissa of slamming it— and Walburga’s portrait starts shrieking.

In unison, Mel and Tonks run to the hall and yank the curtains shut over the portrait, ignoring the screams of “Mudblood! Filth! Disgrace!”

When the portrait is finally quieted, Tonks turns to Mel. “Do you think she’s right?”

Mel looks thoughtful. “Your mum seemed awfully serious about all of this. And she’s not the only one. Maybe… Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to take it a little seriously.”

Tonks groans, leaning against the wall. “Just when I thought this couldn’t get any worse.”

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy thinks she should play the game? Fine. But Tonks is going to do this her way— pink hair and all.

The next Wizengamot meeting isn’t for a few weeks, but Tonks doesn’t let that stop her.

She has her mother over at every opportunity, and asks Andromeda for any insight or tips she can give on pureblood politics.

“I wish it hadn’t taken all of this for you to actually listen to my advice,” she says.

Tonks laughs sheepishly, all-too-aware of how often she and her mum have butted heads. “Well… at least I’m listening now, right?”

Andromeda gives Tonks’s clothes— a Muggle t-shirt and jeans, today— a weary look, but she only shakes her head, and goes back to detailing how new seats in the Wizengamot are created.

Andromeda isn’t the only person Tonks speaks with, either. Lord Black has continued to receive letters, and Tonks has replied to some of them— including accepting some invitations. She brings Mel along whenever she can; Mel sometimes sees things that Tonks doesn’t. And even if she doesn’t offer any additional insight, it’s nice to have someone there to make eye contact with when whoever they’re meeting with says something stupid, and to commisserate with afterwards.

She’s especially glad to have Mel at her side when meeting with the formidable Amelia Bones. Amelia isn’t just the current Lord Bones; she’s the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. As such, her opinions are measured, but still worth listening to.

“Malfoy.” Amelia frowns when Tonks brings him up. “He’s got a lot of support behind him in the Wizengamot.”

“Does it matter that much?” Mel ventures to ask. “If the Wizengamot aren’t the ones who make the laws.”

Amelia sighs. “In some ways, no. But in other ways… The Ministry likes to make sure the Wizengamot is happy, no matter how little power we actually wield.”

“That’s what Mrs. Malfoy said,” Tonks says. At Amelia’s disbelieving stare, she adds, “More or less.”

“I suppose we had to agree on _something_.” Amelia gives a little laugh, before turning the subject back towards their discussion around the current laws protecting creatures and other non-humans.

* * *

The sounds of Grimmauld Place were almost familiar to Tonks by now; creaks and near-inaudible whispers and the mutterings of a half-mad house elf. She still tried to drown them out when she could, but at night, it was just her and Mel. They still shared a single bedroom on the first floor, even though there were bedrooms on the floor just above that either one of them could have claimed. And of course, there were all the bedrooms that had belonged to the Blacks.

But neither one of them had wanted to move out of the room they’d first taken. Or at least, Tonks didn’t want to, and Mel hadn’t brought it up. So, they kept the twin beds crammed into the bedroom, sleeping an arm’s length away from each other.

Mel is already asleep for the night— exhausted by her new job at the Ministry in addition to trying to figure out pureblood politics with Tonks. 

Tonks can’t sleep, though— her thoughts are awhirl with advice and plans and ideas. But her thoughts still as she watches Mel, who has been with her every step along the way. 

Mel’s face is soft and unworried in sleep, and she flung her arm out from under the covers. On impulse, Tonks reaches out and takes Mel’s hand in hers.

“Mmmm?” Mel mumbles, blinking her eyes open.

“Nothing,” Tonks says. “Just— thank you. For everything.”

Mel squeezes Tonks’s hand. 

* * *

On the day of the next Wizengamot, Tonks enters the kitchen and poses. 

Mel laughs. “I wish I could see their faces!”

Tonks grins, and brushes imaginary dust off of her Weird Sisters t-shirt. “I’ll tell you all about it.”

She still doesn’t know what she’s doing, but she’s trying now. And with people like her mum and Mel beside her, she’ll eventually be sure to get it right.


End file.
